*
The random violence of the storm had gone, spent in its surge through the tendril wall. It had been replaced by something subtler but no less powerful. All the energy was slowly being drawn out into the void beyond the tear, creating a silent whirlpool pulling us out. I steered straight through its centre.
Something struck us from the side, spinning us out of control through the hole and out into the black. The energy around us boiled away into nothing.
There were no stars here, halfway along the dark energy highway between two suns. I thrashed at the bank of controls in front of me, regaining control of Ellouise. I took a glance at the view behind us. The river of energy was still evident, but only by the ragged ring around it highlighted by the computer. It flashed, indicating the hole was repairing itself. When it healed, there'd be no way home.
In response to unknown movements around us, the combat interface started up. Every object became lit with a garish outline, which blinked. For the first second, everything within sight flashed. Then, as the computer assessed each object, details scrolled next to them and then they were colour-coded by threat assessment.
Friendly craft were labelled blue. There weren't any. A few drifting hulks, the remains of the convoy, lit up a neutral grey. The rest of my view filled with the red of hostile vessels, and the purple of unknown allegiance, scattered amongst the crimson tide.
Flashes of energy impacted into the shields as we triggered mines left by the fighters. A hundred kilometres away, dark shapes began moving towards us.
"Feature," I said.
"I'm going." The shieldsman replied, shucking off his headset and pulling himself out of the chair. His armour clicked as if in anticipation. Feature entered the room I indicated, past Jericho's fractured holo, and into the elevator.
"Ok Ted," I said, pulsing out a return shot at the fighter whilst the hullwalker strapped into the hastily constructed terminal. "Let's see what you can do..."
His figure gave me a thumbs-up. The shield flickered for a second and then began bunching and thinning in time to Feature's hands, marshalling the energy like a conductor's baton.
"Mr Dext?" he said over the network.
"Just Dext," I told him. "What?"
"The hologram in the elevator does not work."
"Did you see any shapes?" I asked as I guided Ellouise into the path of the fighter, and triggered an energy pulse of my own. The shields on the small ship blossomed, whitened and overloaded. The fighter keeled over. "Did you see any objects, people, anything?"
"No," said Feature, "only static."
"Ah well." I sighed. "Just a hope."
"Is it broken?" he asked as he deflected the attack of another hungry mercenary. "Why don't you replace it?"
"It used to be a him," I told him. The convoy grew closer. "My copilot, Jericho."
"Jericho Kastack?” Feature asked. “The Foundation trustee?"
"The same," I said, steering us towards the first freighter. "His data got corrupted when the Karists took Eriadu. I thought maybe today we'd find something to help fix him."
Space combat is a slow process and a strangely graceful one, more like a fleet of engaging boats than aircraft. In a 3D space this big, missing was easy. Spaceships fell into two broad types: big clunky spread-shot slow armour buckets that fired off many shots over a wide area like a shotgun and nippy fast ships and drones that manoeuvred themselves close to their targets for a killer blow.
I'm not particularly good at decisions so Ellouise is fitted as a compromise. Her drones are fast enough to outwit the firing arcs of the bigger ships but she has enough brute force to hold up in a slugfest for a few minutes at least. At least, when the computer was in control of the shields it did.
“Come on Feature,” I said, placing a small video link to him in the corner of the screen. I watched the image of him striding across the hull in his magnetic boots and thick exosuit, thrusting his hands around like a dancing deep-sea diver. On the main viewport the first of the convoy's defence drones began to be visible, tiny specks picked out in red by the targeting computer. “Time to earn your pay.”
I pulled a lever to open the bay doors and let loose drones of my own. I had fifteen cheap shield drones to shoot down or collide with incoming missiles and slugs plus four D-Darts, the finest in gun drones, metre-wide balls with four pulse cannons unloading railgun fire.
Much smaller than the bulk of Ellousie, the gun drones could accelerate faster and did much of the real fighting. I controlled their formation and actions from a 3D map to the side of the pilot's chair but if I wanted to I could take control of one directly.
The shield drones were designed to be expendable and half of them soon disappeared from the board, along with the first wave of drones. The gun drones settled into a pattern on the four points of the compass around Ellouise, with the ship's guns covering the top and bottom angles. The remaining shield drones fitting into the gaps in the net as we approached the remains of the convoy.
The lead freighter had strong shields and no one had managed to pierce them yet. Other members of the convoy had not been so fortunate and had been cut open and their contents scooped up, absorbed or towed away. The greedy and the empty-handed circled the remaining ship desperately.
"The freighter's shield is not their own," said Feature, "it's being projected from outside the ship."
The computer confirmed this. The shield around the remaining convoy ship was far too big, encompassing the freighter, a cruiser, and a handful of smaller fighters. I headed straight for them.
“There's no way the gun drones can get through that,” I said. “We'll have to use the main guns.”
A pirate ship pulled up to intercept me. Energy splashed against our rear shields. I flipped my control to the rear gun drone and moved it into powered up mode, and it glided across the pirate's bulky fuselage, coasting gracefully past, until, for just a second, the little drone's camera stared directly from my cockpit to theirs, and I fired both the gun drone and a missile.
A huge wad of intense purple pummelled the pirate's shield and it disappeared momentarily, just as my missile slipped through. The nose of the pirate cruiser disappeared inward. Debris flashed against the inside of their shield as it recovered an instant too late. The blackened remains drifted away.
A blast of energy from the main guns turned away another would be attacker, a tiny picket cruiser with more bravery than its size justified. One shot overloaded its shields and the fighter faltered in its attack run and skulked away.
The only real opposition came from the shielded group around the convoy's last freighter. The cruiser launched a burst of cybel energy towards us, and behind it a multitude of rockets and missiles. A couple of fighters and drones tagged along behind the shot, ready to swoop should our shield fail.
“It's too big.” Feature's monotone said. “We can't take all the pulse.”
“Well,” I said, sending the drones towards the pulse, “We'll just have to dodge it, won't we.”
The wait for a shot to arrive across kilometres of space is agonising. Many a time pilots must have sat there watching their death hurtle towards them, unable to do anything about it. I studied the wedge of ordinance on the map as it ate up the distance between us.
“I'm going to break right, Feature. Throw all the shield to the left.”
“Ok, Mr Dext.”
I pulled the stick hard right, pushing Ellouise away from the incoming barrage. Feature carved the shield energy with his magnetic hands, throwing large chunks of cybel energy onto the left hand side of the ship.
The outskirts of the pulse washed against our left shield and only the redistribution by Feature kept the shields from being overpowered. The last of my shield drones and one of the gun drones winked out as they caught some of the missiles. Scores still remained to slam into Feature's piled up shield. One missile slipped through and scorched the hull. Another took out a second gun drone.
“Shields are too hot,” Feature said. H
e was right. The aftermath of the blast had left the shields too bright to see past. Another barrage and they would overload. “Dumping half.”
Feature used his hands to slice the shield plasma in two like pizza dough. He shut down the magnets holding one half in place and the energy sputtered out into the vacuum of space, dissipating away like the hole in the river the energy had originated from.
I brought the two remaining gun drones around to the front of us and fired off a barrage of my own. The cruiser's shield absorbed it easily.
Only three mercenary ships seemed willing to fight the cruiser for the last freighter. The others had decided to cut their losses and pick what they could find from the other wrecks.
"Ok, listen up," I said over the comm to the other ships circling with us. "The only way we're going to get past that shield is if we work together. I want to get something out of today's trip and I'm prepared to share the proceeds if need be. Who's with me?"
Two of the ships' captains and their info flickered into being at the corner of my vision. One captain I knew, a successful Gus Torta merc named Guerrera. The other, a Johnson, was new to me. The third ship resolutely ignored us, hiding amongst a dark group of asteroids.
"Ok, here's what we're going to do." Briefly, I explained the plan to Feature and our two new allies. I left the comm open to the other ship, just in case whoever was on board cared about not dying today.
We circled the stricken freighter just outside the range of its defenders. The cruisers within the shield's sphere darted about the edge of their defence, desperately searching for a way to defeat us and get away with their prize, presumably to hand over to the Karist Enclave.
As our two allies began an attack run, I crept Ellouise up in the other direction, through the wreckage of the other freighters. I positioned us behind the largest chunk I could find.
"We're counting on you, Feature." I paused. "You sure you can do this?"
"Yes." The shieldsman raised his hands and the front of our shields bulged.
"On your head be it..." I said, and glanced back at the holo room. Briefly, the proud figure of an old man could be seen sitting next to a glass chessboard.
"Wish us luck, Jericho." The hologram of my friend flickered out of control again, back into static. I pushed the ship forward, eyes half screwed-up, anticipating death, or at least a little discomfort. I kept glancing at the video window of Feature waving his hands about ridiculously, and wished I had my AI back.
The shield bent and strained and the metal of the hulk passed through a little. A couple of pieces of metal drifted through the weakened shield and bounced off the hull. But it held. I accelerated and Ellouise nudged the hulk forward, slowly at first, but fast increasing. I glanced at the radar. Guerrera stayed on the attack, defiant but Johnson's ship had retreated. Their shields were gone, and a huge scar across their side leaked milky clouds of atmosphere.
"Hold it steady."
The enemy fighters, too busy fending off Guerrera, still hadn't noticed us.
"Keep it steady, steady..." I muttered. Feature kept his hands upraised. "Ok! Let it go!"
I pulled back as Feature's hands dropped and cut the shields for a vital second. We pulled away, leaving the hulk speeding towards its ultimate direction.
The hulk impacted against the shield, its bulk breaking into pieces, which rolled against the barrier, spreading like shards of glass from a dropped bottle. The shield splashed white, shone impossibly bright for a second and died. The three of us swooped in for the kill.
"Don't shoot! We surrender!"
A terrifed soldier appeared on my screen.
"Who the hell are you?" I said.
"Ensign Mordan, sir... last surviving Foundation officer in the convoy defence unit."
"Foundation..." I said. If these guys were Epirian, where were the Karist lackeys? "Alright, Ensign, power down your weapons and move away from the freighter, we won’t stop you heading back into the cybel network."
Mordan nodded eagerly. The enemy markers faded from the threat board.
I coasted Ellouise down towards the freighter, aiming for the port entry hatch. Guerrera did the same on the other side. The hatch grew big enough to see without computer assistance. I thought of Jericho, whole again.
"Move away from the freighter and power down."
The threat board came alive with contacts as numerous ships in the area powered up. Alarms deafened me as weapons locked on. The last two gun drones disappeared in a swirl of fire. Explosions rocked the hull. Mordan's contact fizzled away.
The huge bulk of a frigate loomed on the threat board, sliding out from hiding within the cluster of asteroids, scores of turrets deploying and pinpointing the weaknesses of my ship. Each turret had a bubble of air where a human gunner perched, a deployment found only in those factions with absolute mistrust of robotics. The Karist Enclave.
"Pull away from the freighter.” The voice was almost as bland as Feature's. “I have four cruisers under my command. Don't make me use them."
“Perhaps we should stand down,” Feature said over the intercom. On the video of the hull his figure ducked and weaved, magnets in his hands pushing the shields to meet the barrage of shots, stretching them white hot to the limit
"Goddammit!" I smashed my hand against the controls. A giant shadow loomed over us as the Karist frigate prepared to scoop up the freighter. "I need that ship, Feature! I need Jericho's backup!"
"Move away from the freighter," the frigate's captain said. More turrets on the Karist ship highlighted on my retina as the activated and swivelled to target us. “We will destroy you if you do not comply.”
"Goddamn!" I cried, and jerked the controls, preparing to dock anyway.
*
The blast should have killed us. The amount of energy that frigate threw at us should have overloaded the shields ten times over. That much cybel energy would have reacted with the hull, leaked through and driven us mad, in the instant before it reacted with the air and burned us to a cinder.
The pulse never got past the shields.
I pulled myself from the console. Dried blood from a head wound stuck me to it. Pulling away started the bleeding again.
"Easy now." For a split second I thought I heard Jericho say it but as I opened my eyes it was Feature that greeted me.
He looked tired. His scales were dull, and his wings drooped lifelessly. His voice seemed even more monotonous when he spoke.
"We should be heading back, Mr Dext."
I looked out the viewscreen. My headset had been damaged and random computer graphics marred my sight. Outside, the freighter and the Karists had gone. Even the hungry merc ships had vanished. All that was left was debris, dark and empty. In the distance, the near-healed hole in the cybel network could barely be seen.
My arm stung. I registered seeing a needle in Feature's hand.
"What?"
"Adrenaline," he said, "it was the only way to wake you. We need to go."
I nodded, brain more than alive. I grabbed the controls and accelerated. The engines groaned under the strain. We leapt towards the hole, noticeable now only by the distorted flashing yellow ring, barely a hundred metres wide.
"How did you do it, Feature?" I said, "how did you stop the shot?"
"I'm good at what I do," he said. "Next time we’ll get what you need," Feature promised. I looked at him, trying to see the man beneath the shell. Briefly I glimpsed it.
"I underestimated you, Feature. How'd you like to be a co-pilot with me?"
"Ok, Mr Dext."
"Just Dext," I said, "partner."
Feature nodded, once. We pushed through the hole, barely let through by the almost full strength tunnel wall. The storm had abated, and everything seemed calm.
CRISIS POINT BY STEPHEN GASKELL
The number of ships fleeing the Maelstrom is truly staggering, with the refugee populations of a thousand worlds embarked on ships heading away from the destruction. Safety is often generations away, and many wil
l be consumed, unable to outpace the Maelstrom’s advance. Near the Edge, the damage to the Cybel networks means that only a few precious navigation routes remain intact. Even then, the risks are substantial. Fleets of stellar refugees or ‘stellargees’ crawl across space at sub-light speeds towards the nearest gate, falling upon any resources in their path with ravenous need.
Society is a fragile thing aboard the refugee armadas. For some, government and the memory of civilization still burn bright. The rule of law, morality and rationalism still exist as best they can under the stresses of extinction. Some fleets join with others, merging their crafts and resources to try and maximise their chances of outrunning the destruction. Smaller ships are cannibalised for parts to keep those with longer range going, just a bit further. Fleets take on refugees from doomed worlds and stranded ships, even when they risk their own survival to do so. Heroism occurs often in the most desperate of circumstances.
Just as heroic acts and sacrifice are common to some, predatory depravity is common in others, their former morality and culture subsumed by a singular purpose, their own survival. The more callous evacuation fleets descend upon habitable worlds like locusts, stripping them bare of everything they can until the Edge forces them to move on. Whether the world is populated makes no difference to the worst fleets. Sometimes, when the raiders have picked the bones clean, some remain behind, tired of flight and violence, ready to live out their last days on solid ground, hopeful that their gods or their technology might provide a solution before the Maelstrom consumes them too.
The systems beyond the Edge watch the oncoming crisis with rising distrust. The first few refugee fleets brought a wealth of resources and technology and were welcomed. Now, the stream of ships has become a torrent of increasingly dishevelled stellargees, each seemingly more desperate than the last. As piracy, terrorism and lawlessness grow more and more commonplace, it is increasingly difficult for those that police the skies to trust the influx of asylum seekers.
Tales From The Edge: Emergence Page 10
